by T. M. Cromer
Never had Rafe admired him more. What might his life have been like if he had a family like Liz’s? He cast a glance toward Marguerite, and the longing in her eyes matched what was in his heart. They had both been robbed by being born to the Champeau line. Reaching over, he gave her hand a light squeeze. Surprised, she met his steady understanding gaze then contracted her hand within his in response. Theirs would be a better relationship moving forward.
“The death dragon is getting violent, cousin,” Liz said gently. “We need to speed things up.”
“Are you ready to continue, child?”
Sabrina drew back and stared into Alastair’s concerned sapphire eyes. Finally, she nodded. “When Papa wakes, he’s going to be so mad.”
“I’ll deal with your papa.” He winked before setting her down. “He likes to bluster, but he’s a big softie.”
Clasping his hand, Sabrina tugged him toward Damian’s body. “Please help him.”
“That’s the goal.” He knelt beside the Aether’s still form and pricked his index finger. “Liz, I need you to lift Sabrina up to apply the blood. No one else touches these stones.”
Squeezing a few drops on the girl’s index finger, he gave her a light push in the direction of the first pillar. As instructed, Liz lifted her to within reach of the rune etched into the stone. It seemed Sabrina knew instinctively to trace the symbol because it began to hum at the same time it illuminated. They repeated the process for the seven pillars. The buzzing sounded like a thousand bees and set the death dragon to growling beneath ground.
“What’s next?” Rafe shouted over the noise.
“Next, I etch the runes in Damian’s chest.”
Rafe practically swallowed his tongue. The idea of carving up the Aether’s chest made him lightheaded. This did not seem like a finely tuned plan. If Damian woke furious and in pain, it didn’t bode well for the rest of them.
“I need the four of you to step out of the circle now. This part is dangerous.”
He wanted to argue with Alastair that the dangerous part would be after Damian came back to life. Instead, he bundled the women and Sabrina out of the inner temple. They huddled against the exterior wall and watched the older warlock from a safe distance.
Alastair conjured a knife and proceeded to use the tip to copy the runes from the stones. One by one, the open marks on Damian’s chest began to glow, and the blood seemed to dissolve under the heat of the light radiating from his skin.
Liz’s complexion had taken on a green tinge, and unable to watch the entire process, she buried her face against Rafe’s shoulder. Taking the cue from her, he lifted Sabrina and positioned her to rest her head on his opposing shoulder and to turn her face away from the scene of her father being cut up.
After all seven symbols were replicated in the Aether’s flesh, Alastair rose and left the circle.
“What now?” Marguerite asked in a shaky voice.
“Now, it’s Sabrina’s turn.”
Liz’s head whipped up, and she pinned Alastair with a glare. “What?”
Rafe almost laughed at her mama-bear stance.
Lips twisted with amusement, Alastair shook his head. “Perhaps I should clarify.”
“Please do, cousin.”
“Sabrina needs to read the spell. She’s the only one with the power to resurrect her father.” He lifted the child from Rafe’s arms and set her on her feet.
Squatting down to eye level, Rafe asked, “Can you read, Sabrina?”
Worry clouded her eyes as she shook her head.
“Plan B. How about one of us speaks the words, and she repeats them?” He looked over his shoulder at Alastair. “Does that work?”
“I believe it will.” His reassuring smile was directed at Sabrina and did the trick. Hope flared on her little face, and she headed straight for her father.
“I’m ready, sir.”
The words were in Latin, but the girl had no difficulty parroting whatever Alastair said. With each line uttered, the air became thicker and created its own windstorm. Dust kicked up around the outside of the circle, and Rafe shielded his eyes against the grit.
“Holy shit!” Liz gasped.
He peered around his hand to see a web of lines illuminate from beneath Damian and run to each of the pillars. The death dragon groaned one last time and seemed to quiet forever. Rafe was sincerely grateful they never witnessed that monster rise from beneath the earth. He wasn’t sure his old heart could take another shock.
“I think it’s working,” Marguerite said softly. “Should that child glow like that?”
“Alastair?”
“I’m not certain. This is new for me, too.” The grim expression on his face was a deeper reflection of his thoughts. “I think I should pull her out.”
Liz stopped him with a hand on his arm. “Not you, cousin. If those stones are designed to remove power, you can’t lose yours. I’ll go.”
Right when she intended to step across the border, Sabrina held up a hand to stop her and shook her head. Rafe felt as torn as Liz looked. Leaving a young child in the center of such a tempest didn’t sit well with any of them.
“Papa, wake up!” Sabrina shouted. “Papa! Please!”
The Aether’s lids popped open, and he stared unseeingly at the rock ceiling above him.
Rafe’s heart sunk.
Clutching his arm, Liz let loose a small sob.
Sabrina shouted over and over, trying to get through to her father. It didn’t appear to be working, and Rafe could feel the child’s pain as it permeated the air around them.
Without warning, Alastair crossed the line and knelt beside his friend. He unknotted his tie and ripped it from his neck then unbuttoned the top three buttons of his dress shirt. Just as Rafe was going to question Liz as to what the hell Alastair might be doing, the warlock wrapped his large hand around the pendant at the base of his throat. He laid a palm flat over Damian’s heart, then closed his eyes.
“Wake, Damian. It’s time to come back to your daughter.”
Tears streamed down the little girl’s face as she sat by her father’s head and stroked his hair.
“Wake, my friend. You’re needed here.”
The Aether blinked once. Then again. Suddenly, he opened his mouth in a silent scream, his back arching as a thin column of blue light poured out of his mouth toward the sky.
“What the hell is happening?” Marguerite asked. Never had Rafe heard her so nervous.
No one had an answer for her, so they remained silent.
The beam of light cut off, and Damian’s eyes shut a final time. The room was cast in semi-darkness.
Sabrina flung herself over her father as Alastair sat back on his heels.
Rafe was stupefied. Frozen with his shock, he could only stare on in horror. It appeared their ceremony had failed spectacularly, and they’d managed to kill the Aether.
Chapter 28
From outside his body, Damian observed Alastair and Sabrina perform the ceremony to revive him with detachment. He should feel upset on his daughter’s behalf, but a numbness had settled in his soul, and he couldn’t find the energy to fight the beckoning darkness and its promise of restful sleep. Exactly two hundred years he’d survived, only to be tricked by an unscrupulous woman with a grudge. Goddess, he was tired.
“Papa, wake up! Papa! Please!”
The words came to him as if from a great distance, but he responded to the urgency behind them. He slammed back into his body with a force that stole his ability to breathe.
“Wake, Damian. It’s time to come back to your daughter. Wake, my friend. You’re needed here.”
The area over his heart burned where Alastair touched him, and his skin felt as if it were on fire. He opened his mouth to cry out against the pain, but no sound emerged. His body arched up and bucked, trying to dislodge what was left of his soul. There may have been sweet relief in letting go, but Alastair had somehow tied Damian’s soul to his body. There was no escape. The light faded from the ro
om, and he closed his eyes, grateful the ceremony had ended. Perhaps now he could sleep.
“Take the child and head to my estate,” Alastair said roughly.
But his little beastie had latched on and refused to be budged.
“Sweetheart?” Liz’s voice cracked as she addressed Sabrina. “Sweetie, I need you to come with me. We can’t stay here anymore. It isn’t safe, and your papa would want us to protect you.”
Sabrina’s small, ravaged voice said, “I can’t leave Papa. The death dragon will get him.”
“No, it won’t, child. I’ll see he’s cared for. Go with Liz and Rafe.”
“Please tell me that care comes with a damned glass of water, Al,” Damian pushed out through cracked lips.
“Papa?”
He lifted his lids and stared at his determined little savior. Tears clung to her long dark lashes, and her little button nose was bright red from crying. “You just can’t stay where you’re supposed to, can you, beastie?” He softened his words with a loving smile.
“Oh, Papa!”
The impact of her forty-pound body on his aching chest made him grunt.
“Same old, Damian. You live for the drama of a grand entrance.” Alastair helped him sit up. “Welcome back, my friend. Enjoy your nap?”
“I could’ve used a few more hours.” He cradled his daughter close and glanced around at all the relieved faces. “How about we blow this joint? This place gives me the creeps.”
Liz laughed even as she wiped tears from the corners of her eyes. “You missed the real excitement. Apparently, there’s such a thing as death dragons.”
A shudder swept his body. Death dragons. He hadn’t heard mention of one since he was roughly Sabrina’s age. They had populated the ground beneath this temple, waiting impatiently for his mother’s scraps. “Yes, they are ugly little fuckers that feed on the souls of the dead, but they also like to chomp on their remains at the same time.” He kissed the top of Sabrina’s dark head. “Thanks for sparing me that, love.”
“You’re welcome, Papa.”
Damian’s attempt to stand with Sabrina wrapped around him, clinging to his neck, was aborted, and he fell back on his ass. “You’re going to have to let go, beastie. I’m as weak as a newborn kitten.”
Liz opened her arms, and his daughter was happy to dive into her embrace.
“Thank you,” he mouthed to her from behind Sabrina.
Her Madonna-like smile reminded him of his wife. Vivian. He’d thought of her in the moments he lay dying. Their failed relationship was his biggest regret. If he had it to do over, he would try harder to convince her to stay. Pride be damned. A visit to her home was in the near future.
When Alastair cleared his throat, Damian grinned. “Sorry, Al. I was woolgathering. We’re going to need a portal. Care to whip one up?”
“I’ll do it,” Sabrina volunteered. Already, he could see the strain performing the blood magic had done on her, but he couldn’t deny her this one last thing.
“Of course, beastie. You’re the best at portal conjuring of anyone I know. Will you create a door to take us all home?”
“To Ravenswood, Papa?”
He started to say yes, but then shook his head. “No. Let’s go back to the hotel in Paris. Then we’ll detour to see your mother.”
Her dark eyes rounded and tears, shimmered on her lower lids as her lips trembled. “Really?”
“Really.”
When they were back at the hotel, Rafe filled them in on Josephine’s involvement and her subsequent death at his cousin’s hand. No one was surprised she’d concocted such an elaborate scheme. Especially not Liz, who had been on the receiving end of that woman’s hatred. Everything made so much more sense after learning Franco was a pawn.
Liz’s only remaining concern was if the curse Josephine had placed using the blood magic would continue after her death, and whether she and Rafe needed to delve deeper into the removal of the spell, as Marguerite suggested. Again and again, her eyes drifted to where he silently sipped his wine. The melancholy surrounding him wasn’t disguised as well as he probably thought it was. She wanted nothing more than to bundle him away from the crowd and soothe his hurt.
Having grown up in the loving bosom of her relatives, she could only imagine how lonely and dysfunctional his upbringing had been. Any child of theirs wouldn’t spend a day wondering if they were loved.
As if he sensed her focus, Rafe glanced up, and they locked gazes.
“I love you,” she mouthed.
His lips quirked in a small, sad smile.
When he didn’t respond in kind, she wondered what could possibly be running through his mind. Nothing good. The barrier he was erecting would be difficult to breach if he was left to his own devices much longer.
She rose to go to him when Damian stepped in her path for his final goodbye.
He grinned when she contorted to see around him, and she had to smile when she realized she’d done a one-eighty. Just a few days before, she was trying to see around Rafe to take in all Damian’s deliciousness, and now, she was consumed with the love of her life.
“Thank you for all you’ve done for my family, Liz. It’s a debt I can never repay.”
“It could be argued I was the cause of all your problems.”
With a shake of his head, he said, “No. The problems were from an overreaching witch who felt she had the right to meddle in the lives of others for her personal gain.”
“I’m glad you see it that way, Damian. I’m also glad you decided not to flay me alive for taking your daughter into such a dangerous situation.”
“Now that you mention it…” But he winked to show he was kidding. “Sabrina is headstrong, and she had a vision of what was to come. There was no stopping her, Liz. I’m grateful she had you to watch out for her.”
They hugged.
Liz was happy to see Damian had regained his strength throughout the day because apparently you can’t keep a good Aether down. After a lengthy phone call to his wife, he’d stated he fully intended to honor his promise to Sabrina to visit Vivian. Liz hoped he was able to work out the problems in his marriage. Both he and his daughter deserved a better hand than they’d been dealt.
As for Liz, she was happy to have her family’s magic restored and to have everyone survive this last ordeal in one piece. She was hesitant to even think about peace and quiet for the Thornes at this point. The last time she’d had a similar thought, hell broke loose.
Ryanne tried to capture her in a conversation, but Liz waved her off with a smile. She wanted to find Rafe and make sure he was okay. When she looked up from the hug she shared with Damian, Rafe had disappeared, and worry was nagging her hard. Something was off with his behavior.
A quick search of their hotel room showed all his personal items missing. She tried his cell phone but was sent immediately to voicemail.
“Rafe,” she said to the empty room. “Please don’t do this to us.”
Moisture built behind her closed lids, and she feared she would break down and cry copious amounts of tears if he chose to exit her life again. Why hadn’t he stayed to discuss the problem? For that matter, why not tell her what the problem was to begin with?
Three hours later, he still hadn’t returned her call. With a heavy heart, she curled up on the bed they’d shared and pulled his pillow to her, inhaling the lingering scent that was his alone. It was awful how closely this moment resembled that morning four years ago when she woke alone and heartbroken. Hugging the pillow tight, she gave way to her exhaustion and drifted to sleep.
Rafe wandered the halls of the château, idly touching objects he remembered from his childhood. No obvious changes had occurred during the centuries his family owned this place. But now, when he looked closer, he could see the ravages of time. Why hadn’t Mother used magic to restore these things? She’d had it within her power to do so. Maybe Marguerite would help him solve the mystery of his mother’s downward spiral and determine what the catalyst had been.
He felt a deep kinship with Damian at the moment. Both their mothers had gone insane. Both needed to be put down like rabid animals. Both men had kept their feelings bottled up until the right woman came along. And they both adored Elizabeth Thorne.
His phone rang for the fourth time, and he let it go to voicemail. Even though he didn’t bother to check the caller ID, there was little doubt Liz was the one calling. Thorne Industries had yet to be reopened, and he rarely received calls from the Witches’ Council since they’d parted ways. He supposed the mighty Alastair might be calling, but he was too emotionally drained to care who might be on the other end of the line.
Currently, he had nothing left to give, and he wasn’t ready to rehash the day’s events with anyone. Liz, being the kind-hearted woman she was, would understand and allow him this time alone without taking him to task for abruptly ducking out.
The air in the drawing room thickened, and an atmospheric change occurred, indicating an incoming witch. Only three people had the ability to teleport in without finding themselves fried to a crisp. Two of the three were now dead. It could only be Marguerite.
“I thought you might be here.”
He shrugged, not looking at her. “Where else was I to go?”
She laughed lightly. “Anywhere else. Your father’s place. Liz’s hotel room. Your apartment in North Carolina. Literally anywhere.”
“True.” He snorted and turned around. “Why are you here?”
“I live in this old mausoleum.”
“Why not sell it?”
“Because it’s yours now, Rafe.”
His jaw practically scraped the marbled floor.
“You didn’t know you were next in line after Franco?”
“No.” He couldn’t seem to wrap his brain around his inheritance. “Why the hell would it come to me? Mother hated me.”
